BOB O' THE BENT.
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AIR,—“Toddlin' but and toddlin' ben.”
Come a' ye steeve tipplers, and listen to me,
And I'll show you the upshot o' John Barleybrie;
Ye may, aiblins, be laith to gi'e up the bit drap,
But, I trow, in the end, ye'll fin't craw in your crap:
Then scorn nae advice gi'en wi' frien'ly intent,
Though it come frae the gab o' auld Bob o' the Bent.
My father, puir body, when death closed his een,
Left me laird o' the mailin, a' stocked fou bien,
Wi' three horses, twal' kye, and sax score o' tups and ewes,
That frisked and fed on the haughs and the knowes:
And a guid clash o' siller, that draw sax per cent.;
Sae but few chiels could brank then wi' Bob o' the Bent.
(Spoken.)—But when I gat the bridle in my ain han' I gaed on at a
bonny carry; ran to a' fairs, markets, rockin's, sacraments, and weddin's
—kent o' naething but fill and fetch mair; trowth, my nieve was ne'er out
o' my purse frae June to Januar', sae, that e'er ye wad hae said Jock
Robison, I gaed through as muckle o' my daddie's weel haint gear
as wad hae been a guid nest-egg to a canny chiel a' the days o' his life.
Mony a caution I gat frae my mither, puir body, wi' the tear in her e'e,
and when I was sittin' hearin' her I saw my folly as clear's a bead.
But whene'er I was out o' her sicht—fare-ye-weel, Tammy Orr! nae
reformation wi' Bob, he's just the auld saxpence—in for another nievefu'
o' siller frae the shuttle o' the kist, and awa to the nearest yill-house to
get a slockenin', or, as a body may rather say, a kindlin' o' drouth, whare
we wad hae clawt awa at the bicker till the mornin' sun wad been
blinkin' owre the Shotts knowes.
Sae wi' tipplin' late, and wi' tipplin' soon,
My hale lyin' siller I soon tippled done.
When to Glasgow I gaed, wi' the butter and milk,
I ne'er fail'd, on the road, frae the auld naig to bilk,
And wad clatter and quaff till my siller gaed done,
Syne gaed staggerin' hame wi' the licht o' the moon:
While the beast toddled on, and aye hame fand the scent,
Leavin' fate to tak' charge o' doilt Bob o' the Bent.
(Spoken.)—And mony a dreary nicht I took the gate my lane,
reelin' fou, when there was nae livin' saul to be seen a' the road hame,
nor a lichted house, unless a bit blink frae the raikin'-coal o' somebody's
house that had nae shutter on the window. I hae fand my vera heart
like to fail me when I began to measure the length o' the road before
me in my ain min', and saw sic a dreary length o' hieghs and howes
between me and hame, while I gaed zigzaggin' and hiccupin' awa.
Whiles splashin' through dubs, whiles tumblin' ower stanes, whiles
reelin' into a sheugh or a hedge, and whiles stan'in' still a' thegither,
and fechtin' wi' the waterbrash, and bannin' my folly, and formin' strong
resolutions ne'er to do the like again. Ye'll be aiblins thinkin' a fou
body canna think, but ye'll min', after ane's gane a dozen or fourteen
miles on a road (no to speak o' the sidecuttin' on't) they begin rather to
draw their senses thegither, and think what they're about—ay, and to
form braw plans o' reformation too. But a' the jollity I gat owre the
bicker, wi' two-three canty cronies, ne'er had half the relish
O' my ain dog's bark, and my ain cock's craw,
As I drew near my hame, when the day it did daw.
But my siller grew scarce, and my credit grew sma',
And, in time o' maist need, my best frien's did withdraw;
My servants they jauked, my labour fell back,
And I saw, gin I ment na, I'd soon gae to wrack;
But my head was yet licht, and my brow was yet brent,
And dull care couldna conjure blithe Bob o' the Bent.
'Twas beltan before we our corn could get sawn,
'Twas lammas or e'er we our hay could get mawn;
Cauld winter at han' was when our corn was green,
For our kirn we got seldom before halloween:
Sae I fell far ahin' wi' the minister's stent,
Forebodin' destruction to Bob o' the Bent.
(Spoken.)—When I'm carryin' on in this manner, borrowin' siller
frae ane to pay anither, and gettin' the tither visit frae the beagle, I'm
down at Hamilton court ae day, (a place o' business at whilk I was beginnin'
to be owre weel kenn'd, and appearin' aftener as defendant than
plaintiff) and ha'ein' settled accounts wi' my legal advisers, (a class o'
gentlemen, by-the-by, wha had nae sooner gotten me out o' ae scrape
than they had me landed into anither) we had, as usual, a dainty dreigh
sederunt owre a jug o' toddy, and syne I took the airt hame, pinch'd
enough to keep the crown o' the causey. Weel, gaun by an auld howff
whare I had spent hunners o' pounds, though I was now beginnin' to be
mair fash than profit to them, I hears the landlady say, “there's Bob o'
the Bent, rin and bar the door and keep 'im out!” Sae I just steady'd
mysel' on my staff a blink, and said in my ain min',—ay, ay, is this the
gratitude o' changekeepers? The diel a ane o' your craft, Lucky, will
e'er bar the door on Bob o' the Bent again! I gaed straucht hame to
my bed, yoked my wark niest mornin', and hae continued as steady
as the sun in the lift sin'syne, and I soon fan' my affairs tak' anither turn;
and aye, as I persevered, I fan' my credit grow better, till I cleared ilka
bodle o' debt that was on my farm, and can defy the hale warld to say I'm
awn a doit!
Now I've plenty o' siller in purse and in pouch,
And to nane in the warld I, for favour, need crouch;
I ha'e braw piece o' min', and guid health to the boot,
Though I saur in the changekeeper's thrapples like soot:
Let ilk chiel aff the road, then, that leads to content,
Just gae tread the last fitstaps o' Bob o' the Bent.
